The Math Teacher
by sweetdreams-sunnymornings
Summary: BABE. Ranger's half-brother Anthony meets a new woman, will they fall in love? Plus a peek into the life of Julie Martine, and some R & S fun too. R & S HEA, A & the math teacher HEA? Read it and see... COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**a/n Something for Back to School...sigh.**

**This is a short but multi chapter romance written for a dear friend who wanted to be IN a JE fanfic. Happy Birthday, babe!**

***set in my Mercenary Ranger's world. Babe but not a R/S pairing. Standard fanfic disclaimers apply. Characters you recognize from JE are her property and I am just borrowing. Anthony and Nikki (Ms Nichols) belong to me. Anthony is Ranger's half-brother, you can read a little bit about him in _The Price is Right_. enjoy!**

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**The Math Teacher-Chapter one**

**[Anthony]**

**I returned from the job in Paraguay** via MacDill Air Force Base, home of Army Special Operations under General Jason Kent. It's in southern Florida, a useful stop on the way back from points south and, well, wherever. Needless to say the op was a success—I'll even go so far as to call it an excellent outcome. I refuse to feel all anguished about deleting these scumbags. You don't feel all sorry when you flush the toilet, do you?

So since I was here in Florida anyway I called Ranger's ex-wife Rachel and asked if I could stop by in Miami and see Julie and the other kids. She was more cordial than usual and six hours later when I got to her big, lavish, paid-for-by-Ranger white Spanish mini-mansion, I quickly figured out why.

Rachel was dressed up in high heels and a pretty, clingy, sexy red dress. She hugged me gingerly—I hadn't showered—and said, "Here's the thing, Antonio. Ron got free passes for an evening dinner-dance cruise. And well, okay, it's a Monday, but it's almost our anniversary, so we'd really love to go?" she finished hopefully.

"Tonight?"

"Yes. Please?"

"You want me to babysit_?" Are you out of your freakin' mind?_

"No! No, the au pair is picking up Sarita and Mikey after school. They'll be here soon and then she'll be here to babysit."

"Uh huh."

"But Julie has Math Club. Did you know she is taking high school math?" I nodded. "So I was hoping you'd pick her up at school at 4.30."

"Oh. Sure, no problem. But I'm not exactly dressed to do the dad gig."

Rachel patted my arm. "You'll look fine, _m'hijo._ Maybe just a quick shower though?'' She wafted her hand lightly in front of her nose. _What, she thinks I stay at the Third World Four Seasons down there? Six days in the jungle and she'd stink too._

I showered, I shaved, I dressed in clean clothes from my emergency duffle that I keep in the car. I had milk and cookies with Sarita and Mikey. And then we got out the Crayolas and colored while Rachel worked the phones to get me the okay for Julie's pick up. Calls to the school, to Julie's cell, to Rangeman Miami, to Ranger himself for him to call Rangeman Miami.

Usually Rachel would be bitching about Ranger's security measures but today she was _motivated_. And so at 4:20, armed with a handwritten note, I parked my Ferrari in a bus zone and headed into Julie's school. Three steps away from my car and two clean-cut, casually dressed Hispanic guys with a lot of muscles blocked my path. Julie's Rangeman bodyguards in plainclothes, I was thinking.

''ID, sir?''

I squelched my urge to pull my gun— it was locked in the car, anyway—and instead I displayed the note, my NY State photo ID driver's license, and my generic, all-encompassing federal creds.

The two Rangeman guys had to know who I was. Not only do I look like their employer Ranger, I was driving my Miami Ferrari with Florida state vanity license plates, same as my car in New York, except this one has a cream interior instead of black. No sense broiling just to be cool, so to speak.

''Are you armed, sir?''

I could snap both their necks before either knew what hit them, despite the fact that they were well-trained and stood a cautious four feet away from me. But still, you know... like, I _could_. However in the interest of keeping things friendly I said, ''No.''

One of the men politely set the IDs on the hood of my car and they both said, ''Have a nice day, sir.''

I grabbed my creds and started up the front steps of the school but then I turned back to say, ''_Have a nice day_? Does Ranger know you guys _say_ that?'' But they were gone. Or at least invisible again.

The school was pretty quiet, no kids or teachers. No federal agents coming to arrest my formerly teenage ass. Just an aging rent-a-cop sweating at a beat-up card table, armed with a sign-in sheet. I did the ID thing again, wrote a name (not mine of course) in his spiral notebook, and followed his directions to the math lab where the Math Club was meeting.

. . .

**[Julie]**

**I am not a geek—**or a dork, or a dweeb, or, or—what_ever_! So what if I'm a girl and I like computers and math? I like English and French class too, and _Twilight_ books and clothes and shoes and music and everything a regular almost 13 years old girl likes too. My name is Julie Martine-Manoso and when I was 10 years old I killed a man in self-defense. My notoriety from shooting Chuck AKA that a-hole Scrog has saved me from total dorkdom so everyone knows me and I have a lot of cool friends. This is my first year taking advanced math with the high school kids and my advisor Ms Nichols suggested I join the math club so I'd get to know everyone. Fit In, she means.

Actually Ms Nichols is proof positive that a female person can be smart and like math and stuff and still be hot. She is—I don't know—young? youngish? And really pretty— curly brown hair, green eyes. Porcelain white skin with a few freckles. Like: girl-next-door grows up and gets hot? You know. She told us once that she loves Zumba workouts and even though she disguises it a bit with loose, boring teacher clothes, she has a great body. I see how the older boys eye her when she wears a tight t-shirt sometimes.

Math Club is fun and the older kids are nice to me. Mostly though they are into computers and cyber-shit. Many are gamers, even role playing gamers. Right now the convo is about a live game they are doing/ following. I listen and I think, _No way is daddy gonna allow that!_ At least not in the live action, puzzle solving, treasure hunting parts. But I make a mental note to at least bring up the idea, so he can, like, _adjust. _Ranger—my daddy—functions best when handled correctly.

Can you just see how cool I will be, dressed all in black at some RPG—role playing game—event thing, my all-in-black, heavily armed, badass Rangeman bodyguards at my back! Awesome. I can't get rid of the guys, so I am learning to work the situation. _Ssshhhh! Don't tell daddy, okay?_

This is a club not a class so Ms Nichols is sitting in the adjacent window-view office, working on her laptop. Not really leading us, just around if we need her. Something on her laptop screen makes her smile and shake her head in mock dismay and I think again how pretty she is. Her prettiness reminds me of my friend Steph's looks, she too is beautiful in a nice way. I look at myself in the mirror sometimes and think I will never be pretty like they are.

Ms Nichols wears no rings—and we call her _Ms_ Nichols—so no husband or fiance' seems to be in the picture. I read my cell phone messages and see that my Uncle Anthony will be picking me up. The gears turn in my head and I smile.

_**to be continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Math Teacher.**

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**Chapter Two**

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**[Ms Nichols/Nikki]**

**At 4.30 I signed off my Yahoo Groups** and went tell my Math Club kids it was time to hit the road. The dozen or so students obediently gathered their backpacks and trail off, still yakking about RGPs. I had to wonder if their parents are aware of what the kids get up to on-line. Moments later only Julie Martine was left in the classroom. I asked her, "Your mom picking you up, Julie?"

She smiled at me and yet again I was stunned by her exquisite looks. _She's what- 12? 13? She'll be on the cover of Vogue before she's eighteen. _The girl's slender build disguised the budding figure of an athlete or a dancer. And I knew she was both. Her eyes were the darkest chocolate brown and her almost waist-length hair was straight, silky and a shiny near-black. She had the face and complexion of a Latina china doll combined with a sweet alert air that was charming. As usual her clothes and purse and backpack were expensive in a tasteful teenage way.

And Julie Martine was frighteningly intelligent.

Now Julie zipped shut her Prada laptop case and said, "No, today my uncle is picking me up. He'll be here in a minute or two, he's never late."

"Really?"

I was dubious. Like every other adult at this exclusive private school—kindergarten through grade 12, 96.3% college bound, 60% to Ivy League universities—I had been extensively briefed on this child's security requirements.

Julie nodded and said, "Yep. He has a note, you'll see—"

We were interrupted by a voice at the door saying, "Knock-knock," accompanied by a soft rap of knuckles on the door jamb.

"Anthony!"

"Babe!"

Big happy hug. The man twirled her around and kissed her forehead. I could definitely see that Julie knew this man and was thrilled to see him. But surely this was no one's uncle.

Julie was squealing, "Thank you for coming for me."

"_No problemo, chica_."

"Come meet my math teacher! Did daddy tell you I am taking advanced calculus this year?"

"Yeah. That's like awesome, sweetheart." The man sounded totally clueless.

Julie grabbed his hand and dragged him over to me. "Ms Nichols, this is my Uncle Anthony Stewart." Then she added to him, "My teacher, Ms Nichols." _Nice manners_, I thought.

I looked at the uncle. Six or so feet of male model body draped in ragged cargo shorts, faded blue wifebeater (_The Crabby Clam Bar ~ Key Largo_), flipflops and aqua-lensed sunglasses. _And!_ Get this—diamond earrings and beaded dreadlocks, blond. Nice tan.

I checked out the muscles displayed by the sadly ancient tank top and surreptitiously checked my face for drool. Bad dresser but hot, very hot. Wow.

The man took off the sunglasses and we shook hands—his unexpectedly callused—and we both said, "Nice to meet you."

"Antonio! Mom says being in Math Club is geeky…." The guy frowned. "But look, Ms Nichols is totaly not geeky, she's really pretty! …Oh, ooops! Sorreeee!" The man had set a gentle hand on her should to silence her.

To me Julie said, "Uncle Anthony liked math too when he was in school—he's really good at math and computers and stuff."

"Chica."

Good at math? Give me a break! Not only did this guy look like he just rolled off his surfboard, he was obviously unemployed if he was available to do a school pick up run in the late afternoon. He was so good looking that he couldn't possibly have a brain in his gorgeous, albeit cornrowed, head.

Politely I said, "Really? Bet you're really good at adding up your checkbook, huh?"

Mr. Stewart narrowed his eyes at me and said, "Yeah—well, I like, you know, do it online, click, click. Doesn't everybody?" He paused. "Actually I have someone..."

"Of course," I said kindly. _Run out of fingers and toes for counting, huh?_

Julie spoke up quickly and said, "I left my English homework in my locker—be right back!" And she hustled out leaving me with "Surfer Dude."

After an uncomfortable silence, Stewart rested a butt cheek on a student desk, crossed his arms on his chest making his glossy brown biceps bulge, and said, "So what exactly do you teach, Ms Nichols?"

"It's Alyssa," I heard myself say.

He nodded. "Alyssa." And smiled at me. Omigod, he had Julie's wonderful smile.

I got a grip and told him what my classes were, adding, "Some of the advanced students are really bright. We actually had a discussion about the application of fractal theory to quantum geometry the other day….Oh well, you wouldn't know what that is, but it's quite esoteric. Julie should do well here."

"Babe, I wrote the fundamental theory on fractal generation of the Mandelbrot and Julia sets." He shrugged. "Chaos and cyber-quantum theory applications and so on. You know, like—the Julia set consists of values such that an arbitrarily small perturbation can cause drastic changes in the sequence of iterated function values. Thus the behavior of the function on the Fatou set is 'regular', while on the Julia set its behavior is 'chaotic'. As I'm sure you know, in numerical analysis, the Newton-Raphson method of approximating the roots of a function can lead to chaotic iterations if the function has no real roots, thus creating Julia sets. The name, Julie/ Julia, is just a coincidence, I'm pretty sure her mom chose it."

I laughed. "Good one!" But he stared at me as if he sensed a hint of challenge or disrespect from me. Well, look at him! Can you all say _Airhead_? Yeah….

He straightened up and said, "I'm gonna find Julie, good to meet you, _Ms_ Nichols…." He turned to leave but stopped at the door, said quietly, "Look it up, Alyssa. Go ahead, Google me. MIT, PhD, class of…." He told me the year and was gone.

I did a fast subtraction in my head. Say he was maybe 25 or so now, he'd have been...what? Seventeen? I laughed. What a jerk!

…. …. ….

**I turned away, a little flustered** and then I noticed a white business card left on the desk where Stewart had been sitting. I picked it up. It was heavy cardstock with simple and elegantly engraved black print:

**Anthony Robert Stewart**

**M-S World International Bank**

**NYC, London, Rome, Zurich, Geneva, Tokyo**

**Georgetown, Cayman Is**

…no phone numbers.

I flipped it over and _engraved_ on the back was:

an 800 number:** 800 One Shot **and a web site: **OneShot**** [dot]com**

.

—in a goofy font I recognized as_**Thriller Bold**_**.**

Hmmmm. I heard footsteps in the hall and Stewart stuck his head back in. He said, "Call me!" in chorus with Julie's, "Bye, Ms Nichols, see you tomorrow!"

.

**That evening I sat at my kitchen table**, laptop open in front of me, diet Coke in my hand. And yes, okay. I did Google him. And yes, there he was. On the bank's website, on MIT's website and on their alumni site, and on the web's cyber-math chat boards. The bank even had his picture and title: CFO/ chief financial officer. Suit and tie with the dreadlocks.

The strange thing though was the One Shot website—it opened, but then a Department of Homeland Security seal came up and a banner text that said:

**_Sealed by order of the President of the United States._**

**_NTK/ eyes only._**

Yikes! I backed out fast.

Later that night I again sat down at my desk and looked at his card. He said _Call him_…and I would. To apologize.

Just as soon as I got up the nerve.

I picked up my wine, the diet Coke just wasn't doing it for me tonight, and took a big gulp.

**tbc**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Math Teacher**

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**Chapter Three**

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**Ms Nichols/Nikki**

**It took me three more days** to screw up my courage to call Anthony Stewart. In my third period advanced calculus class I was aware of Julie Martine's wide brown eyes studying me, her face entirely neutral. As a teacher I have perfected a blank face of my own—the things the kids say! Omigosh!—but hers was Olympic gold medal quality. _A+ on No Expression_, I thought.

Late Thursday afternoon I had graded all the week's quizzes and posted the grades on-line by 5 PM. Happily free of work I was headed out to my car, unburdened by my usual stack of teacher homework and I saw Julie sitting on the front steps of the school in her blue soccer practice uniform, apparently all alone. "Hi, Julie! Late practice?" I called.

"Yes, my dad's on his way though, no problem." She stood up politely when I walked over to her and she bestowed her movie star smile on me, giving me a perfect memory of a man and a smile and a call that I owed him.

I said, "It was nice to meet your uncle the other day…."

"Yeah...I mean, yes, he's awesome."

"Is he your mom's brother or your dad's?" I'd met both of the adult Martines on Open School Night in September and saw no resemblance. And part of me could not believe I was pumping a child for info about a hot guy.

Julie stared at me for a few beats, seeming to consider. Then, "He's sort of my daddy's brother."

"Really? But—his name was not Martine, was it?" As if I totally had not memorized the man's business card.

Julie shrugged. "Not my dad—my daddy." She pulled out her expensive cell phone and nimbly working the touch screen she pulled up a photo to show me. "He's, like, my biological father…." I leaned in to look at the little screen. Headshot. Oh. Hot, hot young man in dark glasses, camouflage military hat with the brim turned up on one side and the military insignia there blurred out. Bare brown shoulders under heavy-duty camouflage flak vest or body armor. Fashionably grungy five o'clock shadow and diamond earrings.

Wide white smile.

Wide _famous_ white smile. This man was the notorious but nameless young soldier from last year's CNN coverage of a quasi-military rescue in the Middle East. The press had called him_ the man with the million dollar smile_, he was that well-known.

I'd have said it was totally unbelievable that he could be related to Julie Martine or Anthony Stewart, except for the fact that he looked exactly like both of them. And I supposed on some level it explained Julie's intensive security parameters. I was still trying to process the idea when Julie snapped the phone off and said, "There's my dad now! Bye, Ms Nichols!" She ran down the steps to the white Dodge Dakota pickup truck that had one of those magnetic commercial signs on the door. It said _Martine Brothers Air Conditioner Repair & Installation_ in red letters. The window rolled down and a nice-looking early forties-ish Hispanic man waved.

Julie's _dad._

…_.. …. …_

**I went straight home and picked up** the embossed white card and called the number on the back.

"M and S International, this is Mr. Stewart's line. Danielle speaking. How may I help you?" said a young woman with a very posh British accent. Baffled, I hesitated and then asked for Anthony Stewart.

"Mr. Stewart is unavailable at the present. May I have him return your call? Or I can take a message."

"Oh! No! Well, can you tell him that Alyssa Nichols called? Alyssa Nichols from Miami called?"

"Oh, Ms Nichols." The voice got noticeably warmer. "He was hoping you would call. I'll let him know right away!" I could hear the smile in her voice.

I said, "Oh, well, thank you." And we hung up.

…. …. ….

**Anthony**

**DC: The new HLS—Homeland Security-—dude **had dragged me here for a _debriefing._

I am gonna have to add a clause to my contracts: No Debriefings. Ranger would just say charge them extra but I just don't have the time or the patience. I should have been in Geneva by now for a meeting I had scheduled at The International Economic Summit Conference. But the worst part of this thing in DC was that HLS had allowed some honchos from the Senate Antiterrorism subcommittee to join us. The bad thing about _that—_besides the second guessing shit and the boredom factor—was that one of the politicians had been on the Congressional Long-term Financial Status committee and he kept looking at me like he should maybe know me.

LOL. I was in disguise! I'd had my hair cut a bit-so no braids, just longish, couple inches? on the top with buzzed sides and I had Brylcreemed it back—did you know you can still buy Brylcreem? Cheap white short-sleeved shirt with plastic pocket protector full of Bic pens, too big khaki Dockers cinched high at the waist by a sixties vintage wide leather belt. Suede Hush Puppy shoes, white ankle socks and CVS reading glasses. Nerd chic without the chic factor. The pants were baggy enough to hide my gun at the back waist, further disguised by the tucked-in white shirt.

Damn! I am so _cute._

My cell vibrated and I got up and walked out into the hall. I figured the suits would never miss me.

Huh. Text from Danielle my exec assistant, saying that Alyssa Nichols had finally called. The message ended with her phone number and Dani's editorializing _Yay!_ Shit, even Dani wanted to fuck with my love life. She glommed onto my "thing" for Steph and was totally disapproving. I tried to tell her to butt out, _you don't understand_, meaning the psychic connection I felt with Stephanie. Dani had shrugged calmly and retorted, "You're hot but you're an idiot, you need to get a life."

So now I'm thinking Alyssa the math teacher is very cute. And I supposed, normal.

Before I could return her call, the senator formerly from the finance committee stepped into the hall. He glanced at me and said, "Bathroom break."

"Do you need a hall pass?" I said sarcastically.

He looked surprised at my rudeness then he said, "Don't I know you?"

I let myself morph from dork to badass and sent my best scary vibe. "No."

The senator backed away."Sorry, my mistake." And he scuttled off to the men's room. Fast.

I guess the laughter was still in my voice when Alyssa answered her phone because she seemed happy to hear from me.

…. ….. ….

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**Alyssa Nichols/ Nikki**

**After the **_**hey how are you's**_ a short silence developed. I said, "So, um, you're probably wondering why I called…."

His voice held a smile and he said, "To say Hi?"

"Well, no. I mean yes! But really I wanted to apologize. I—um—I did look you up on-line."

"Uh huh."

"Your CV is impressive. Your work on chaos fractals and pattern sequencing! Correlating the quantum random factors in cyberspace—using that as a jumping off point for the design of web enhancement: it was profound, really. It changed fundamental, intrinsic computer design. I'm …impressed."

"Babe."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. It's no big deal and you know, it was like a really long time ago."

I laughed. "Yeah, you're such an old man, aren't you!"

"It 's just that I've moved on, so to speak." He spoke to someone in the background, then to me: "Sorry, interruptions."

"You sound annoyed?"

"Not with you, Alyssa. I'm in a meeting and I stepped out for a break. These idiots think they…oh nevermind."

The conversation was deteriorating so I screwed up my nerve again. And praying he would think I was into his brilliant brain and had no interest [_cough_] in his incredibly hot body, I said, "So can I buy you a drink and apologize in person? We can discuss chaos theory." I put a smile into my own voice, making a lame little joke there.

"Butterfly effect, Ms Nichols?"

""Alyssa, remember? Please."

"Sure, Alyssa—Tell you what. I'm in DC right now and I suppose I'll have to get over to, um, but I can be in Miami next weekend. You let me take you out to dinner and I'll forgive you for disrespecting me."

I _hoped_ he was teasing. "Oh but please, dinner is on me," I said.

"No, I insist. So—next weekend? Saturday?"

"Okay…."

He suggested, "We could have dinner on my friend's yacht, dance in the moonlight, enjoy the ocean?"

"Well-"

"Or, do you like Paris? We could fly over for the evening…."

Paris _France!_

"No! I mean, no, I—"

"No?"

"No. Those are fun fantasies, Anthony, but well—let's do something casual." And realistic. "Get acquainted and so on." No way was I getting on a boat with a man I don't know.

"Casual," he said. "I can do casual, Casual is my middle name. Well actually it's Robert—you saw it on my card, I guess. But whatever. I'll figure out something good, Nikki."

"Nikki?"

"Yeah, is that okay? I'm not sure you seem like an Alyssa…."

"Fine. I guess."

"So, next Saturday, 7.30 pm," he mumbled. Was he typing me into his BlackBerry? In his regular stoner voice he added, "I'll, like, pick you up. Dress casual, bring your swimsuit."

"Swimsuit?"

"Well yeah, it is Miami, right? So, bring your bikini."

"Okay, sure. Okay." God, I'm glad I do the Zumba workout three nights a week!

"Bye, Nikki."

"But you don't know my address," I said to the dead phone. Oh well, he'll either find me or he could call me.

_A date! I have a date._ With… [_happy sigh_]

**tbc**


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: I think I forgot to say...**

**My Plum timeline tends to be _very_ flexible, but this story more or less takes place a few years before The Price is Right**

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**The Math Teacher - Chapter Four**

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**Stephanie, back in Trenton...**

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_**Jewel2000 wants to friend YOU!**_

**I stared at my inbox in horror**, cursor hovering over the delete key. Omigod, I got porn spam—at Rangeman. I took a deep breath and reconsidered—stalker? Crazy? The email was actually addressed to my Rangeman screen name: _Steph (at) RM (dot) com_ and was on the secure internet hookup. Knowing I should call Hector or Tank, or _someone—_for advice, I instead clicked open the message. I was half afraid to look, expecting a photomontage/ screen show of horrible porn or a snuff clip.

What I saw instead was even more frightening.

It seems that Jewel 2000 was—I could hardly believe my eyes—Ranger's daughter Julie.

Julie has a Facebook page.

There she was, all pretty mocha latte skin and wide beautiful smile. The banner _read Hi! You've reached the pages of Jewel, AKA Julie M. You all know who you are, so here is who I am!_

Julie was now twelve years old. She and I became friends during the Scrog mess a couple years ago and we became even closer when Ranger and I got together and I became her sort-of stepmom. After Zoë was born, Julie came to stay and get to know her new baby sister and supposedly get better acquainted with her biological father.

So Julie and I have a bond, formed of terror and lives saved and love for the man we all call Ranger. And now I was being invited to her Facebook site—I was a "friend". A friend who would now have to betray her.

I closed down the site and went to Ranger's office, paused in his open doorway and said, "Knock, knock."

"Babe." His smile, just like Julie's smile, never failed to warm me to my toes. And his smile heated lots of good places in between too.

"Got a minute?" I asked.

"More than a minute, for you." The innuendo was light but there, and his eyes darkened to black. _Oh well, duty calls instead._ I went in and sat down in front of his desk. The silence dragged out and his expression, when I looked up from my clasped hands, had gone serious.

"What's wrong."

"Um. Maybe nothing. But—do you know what Facebook is?"

Tiny nod.

"Maybe I better just show you…." I got up and went to stand behind him, leaned in, reaching for his keyboard. "Is it okay if I use this?"

Another tiny nod, I felt it against my arm, more than saw it. I typed in my Rangeman screen name and password, then I accessed Jewel2000's Facebook page.

Julie's page came up. I stepped back a little and Ranger took over. He slowly read her welcome message, read quickly through her bio, took at fast look at the pictures of her friends, then clicked on the banner marked _Parental Units & Sibs_. Small header: _My Family! I Luv 'em but it's Complicated._ Then pictures. Rachel and Ron, labeled _Mom & Dad._ Rachel's other kids: _Miami sibs_. Then me and Ranger, labeled _Steph & Daddy_. A baby picture of Zoë, _Latest Addition to the gang._

Ranger said nothing. He opened the public blog and read for awhile, then went back to the pictures.

His silence was killing me and I finally said, "Well?" I leaned a hand on his desk, craned around to see his face. Blank of course. His eyes finally flicked to mine and he actually leaned back and rubbed his face with both hands.

I said, "Is it awful? A disaster?"

Ranger shrugged. "It reminds me of that thing with John Sawers."

"Who?"

"A guy I know in the UK, he was supposed to take over British Intelligence, MI6. But his wife put every single detail of their lives on public Facebook."

"Oh, I remember that, a couple months ago?"

"He resigned, he'll never work in intelligence again."

"Maybe it's not so bad, Ranger. It is not a public space, it's private; you can only see her info if she friends you…or me, whoever."

Ranger actually rolled his eyes at my stupidity and said nothing for a few minutes, clicking back around the site.

"The picture of us isn't very clear," he said. He brought it up and full-page viewed it. He and I were standing on the beach in Miami, arms around each other. Ranger was wearing board shorts and a smile. I wore a bikini top and a gauzy sarong skirt. It was sunset and we were in profile, his hands on my shoulders, my arms around his waist. We looked like we had just kissed—and probably we had. Maybe our faces didn't show too clearly but Ranger's amazing body, bare-chested and bronzed, was, to me, unmistakable. We both wore very dark sunglasses though and his profile was somewhat obscured by shadow and the fading sun. Besides all the other ramifications, Ranger looked way too hot, too—um—beefcake?—to be anyone's father. Julie must have snapped the picture with her phone, maybe when we visited after Ranger recuperated from Scrog's attack.

The picture of Zoë, however, was one I had sent to Julie. Zoë was full-face, cooing and looking like a tiny exquisite version of both Ranger and Julie, except Zoë has my curly hair.

Ranger said, "It may be private but look at this list of friends." Dozens of names. Julie was smart, pretty, and popular. She was a _tween_ heroine for her much-publicized courage in saving her own life and mine and her father's, not that long ago.

I said, "Will you make her take it down?"

"I'm not sure. What I am reading on the blog seems fairly discreet, no last names or addresses or details. I'll have to have someone read every single thing on the pages to make sure. But anyone who knows Julie will know all that." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if a headache was forming fast.

"I think I'll have to go down and see her, speak to Rachel too. I very much doubt that Rachel gave her permission for this. But I don't want to discuss it on the phone."

I nodded. "Good idea. Um, could it hurt you, business-wise?"

"No. But that's not the issue."

"I know." His family's safety was the issue, it came first with him, it always had, always would. Ranger the hero, the protector. The dad.

… … …

**Ranger**

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**I got to Miami the next morning**. I saw Rachel first, I called ahead and asked her to meet me for lunch. Surprisingly she knew about the Facebook thing.

She looked at me and shook her head, sort of a _poor you_, pity look on her face. She said, "All the kids have Facebook pages, Ranger. You want her to be normal, don't you? Be like regular kids?"

"She is normal, Rachel."

'Yes, if being the child of a famous—ha ha, forgive the oxymoron!—covert assassin and so beautiful that she turns heads, stops traffic, is normal, then, yeah, sure. Julie is normal. If having bodyguards 24/7 and an implanted tracker are normal…."

"She was okay with the tracker."

"It's like what they put on dogs!"

"And your point is?"

"The point _is_, Ranger, that I figured the Facebook page was fun and a good thing. She started middle school this fall, remember. And the school insisted she take advanced math! She needs some fun, some teenage girly stuff, she's not a geek like your brother."

I looked at this woman with whom I shared a wonderful child and restrained myself from throttling her for her stupidity, her smugness. As if all middle school girls MUST be on Facebook. _Shit._

.

**Now I waited outside Julie's school**. I had permission to pick her up and had informed the Rangeman-Miami office that I'd be there at 3 o'clock. I leaned against the fender of the black Porsche _Carrera_ I keep in Miami and waited, shades in place, arms folded on my chest.

The other parents stared. I projected badass vibes and looked at my watch. When I glanced up I found in front of me a nicely dressed—khakis, golf shirt, windbreaker—heavily armed young Latino man. A Rangeman operative in plainclothes, guess Julie's detail either didn't get the message or was not into playing it safe. I recognized the young man from his files but we had never met in person.

I said, "I'm Carlos Manoso, Julie Martine's father. I have her mother's permission to pick her up today."

The guy glanced at me then at the Ferrari. Even in Miami there aren't _that_ many black Porsches and he seemed to recognize the car. But he asked, "Do you have any ID?

I said, "No."

"In that case, sir…"

"Daddydaddydaddy!" Why my daughters have this thing for screeching _daddydaddydaddy,_ I'll never know. But Julie ran down the school step and flung herself into my arms. She looked up at the Rangeman guy and said, "Juan! This is my daddy! This is your boss!"

"Yeah. But I still need some ID."

_Good man._

…. … …. …..

**Julie**

**.**

**I sat in some Cuban bodega**/ pizza parlor in Little Havana and watched my daddy try to _blend_. Watching Ranger blend is pretty freaking funny...it's like watching some movie star try to blend, like Brad Pitt or something. Only more so because my daddy is way hotter not to mention younger than Brad Pitt. People did leave us alone though, more because they _did_ recognize him and were being respectful than because he was successfully hidden behind his black sunglasses.

What? You thought I was just a name on a child support check to him? Get real. Does that sound like the Ranger we all know and love? I mean, he's a great daddy but let's face it, he's a little bit of a control freak, right? So we have our relationship and we keep it a secret—or we try.

Anyway, judging from the glances we were getting, Ranger Manoso is pretty well-known in Miami, I guess.

I said, "I'm, like, so glad you're here!"

Twitched eyebrow over the rim of the shades. I added, "I am! Really!"

He said, "Is that what the Facebook thing is about, Julie? If you wanted my attention all you had to do is call me."

Behind his blank face I thought he looked sad and I reached out and grabbed his hand. "No! At least not exactly."

"Go on."

I took a deep breath. "I'm in the Student Congress club at school and we are having a class trip this year! We had a bake sale and a car wash to help raise money! It's next month and we are going to Washington DC!"

_Jesus Christ, _thought my daddy, I could read it on his face.

He said, "What's on the agenda in DC?"

_Huh? _

I said, "What?"

"Where are you going in Washington?"

"We are staying at the Holiday Inn…" I swear daddy cringed—"And we are going to the Washington Monument and a bunch of museums and the Pentagon…." Another cringe, _hmmm…. _"And best of all we are going to the White House!" I finished up the itinerary with the most exciting part.

Ranger said, "Are you, ah—meeting the President?"

I shrugged. "They said probably not but it's like so too bad because I'd really like the meet the First Daughters. That's how the Facebook thing started! The President's daughter—she's just my age..."

"Yeah. I know."

"And she has a public Facebook page! And she asked everyone who is her age to write to her and comment on her blog and all! And she writes back and if I like make friends with her I might get to meet her and she maybe will even invite some of her new Facebook friends to her birthday party! It's on the 4th of July, is that not awesome?"

Ranger said, "

The President's daughter has a Facebook page?"

"Yes! And hers is public, but I made mine private 'cos I knew you'd want me to be, what do you call it?—security conscious."

... ... ...

**Ranger**

**.**

**I looked at my daughter's proud and happy face**. Ok, she's just a child, but still—this is her idea of security conscious?

"Okay, daddy?"

"Well here's the thing, chica," I said carefully. "Everyone knows where the First Daughter lives and who her dad is and that she wears only J Crew and so on. Her information is not really secret." Exactly. Though I made a mental note to speak to the presidential Secret Service detail command to find out just how this was being handled.

"But I'm a secret?" Her face fell and her lips wobbled a little bit. I wanted to yell, _"Did the Scrog fiasco teach you nothing? You had to kill a man to save us! My baby!"_

_My baby had to shoot a man…._

I kept those thoughts to myself and said, "Tell me about this teacher you introduced to Anthony." Yeah, I changed the subject fast.

"Oh! Did he call her? She's so pretty and she has no boyfriend and..."

"So that induced you to meddle in her private life? And poor Anthony's love life? Why?"

"Duh, daddy! because I can! And because he has a thing for Steph, he needs to move on, find his own girlfriend."

"That is definitely none of your concern, Julie. Butt out."

My voice must have been too stern because her eyes widened and filled with tears. She whispered, "I just want him to be happy. And she's really nice."

Sounded like a disaster in the making to me but I let it go. Time for yet another subject change. "Tell me more about the trip to DC."

Always resilient, Julie perked right up."Well, they want parents to come and chaperone so I was thinking maybe you could meet us in Washington and be a chaperone and that way I'd get to see you and we could like hang out for a few days."

"Does your mother know about this?

"Yes. She said, _Sure, call Ranger_. She said it was okay…? It is okay, isn't it, daddy?"

I know when I am being _handled_, but I nodded. She bubbled on, "And if you go along I won't need my Rangeman guys, right? 'Cos I think they make the other parents and teachers a little nervous."

_Get real_. "Maybe _I _will make the parents and the other teachers nervous, Julie."

"Oh daddy, no you won't. You're my dad!"

"Speaking of which, why can't Rachel and Ron go?"

"Because I want you!"

"Well…."

"Daddy! Have you ever fired two guns while jumping through the air?"

"No."

"Have you ever fired _one_ gun while jumping through the air?"

"No." _not that I recall…._

"Were you ever in a high speed pursuit?"

"What? Well, yeah. Julie, are those movie lines? Some idiot reporter asked Tank the same thing..."

"Daddy! You're so silly, you need to get out more too. Anyway, last question: Have you ever fired a gun while in a high speed pursuit?"

"No-"

She smiled at me, it was like looking in a weird mirror. She said, "So, see-what could be scary? You're just a regular dad, am I right?"

I know when I am defeated. I said unenthusiastically, "Oh okay but I am not staying at the Holiday Inn, chica."

"Oh but…." Tiny sad voice, she was playing me still.

I said, "We'll stay at the Four Seasons. _Everyone_ will stay at the Four Seasons. Okay? I'll fix it. My treat."

"Yay! Oh, and Daddy? Bring Stephanie! Pleeeeze?"

…. … … … ..

**Ranger, back in Trenton**

**.**

"We're going where?" asked Stephanie.

"DC. With Julie's 7th grade Student Congress group."

"Does Rachel know?"

"Yeah I think she suggested it."

We both grimaced.

"And we are all staying at the Four Seasons?"

"Yeah."

"Do they allow kids?"

"They better," I said menacingly. I had to exert my power over someone if only a poor reservations clerk at the five-star hotel. I added, "They allow little lap dogs like Killer, right? So they gotta allow kids."*

"Killer is a lot better behaved than a horde of seventh graders, Ranger."

We grimaced again.

Steph asked, "Did you make her take down her Facebook page?"

"No, but I had her remove the photos of us and Zoë."

"Good call, Ranger."

**tbc**

* * *

*Killer is Steph and Zoë's little pug dog, a gift from Anthony...


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n Thank you all for reading and especially thanks to those of you who reviewed. It means a lot-wow, what a thrill! Thanks.**

* * *

**The Math Teacher-Chapter Five**

**.**

**Allysa/Nikki**

**The following Saturday came too fast **and yet not fast enough. That afternoon I treated myself to a spa visit for a mani-pedicure and bikini wax.

And at 7.30 I was dressed in my favorite turquoise bikini, worn under a black cotton sundress with a short flouncy skirt edged in silver thread embroidery. Pewter metallic leather sandals with shell and turquoise encrusted thong straps. Hair in a loose french braid and silver hoop earrings.

I had tried on and discarded: shorts and tank top; capris and little cropped cardigan; jeans and golf polo. Sneakers, rubber flipflops, slides and Crocs. Now I desperately wondered if I was horribly overdressed and trying too hard. Thankfully the doorbell rang and saved me from a full blown panic attack.

I grabbed my big straw tote and opened the door.

Anthony Stewart said, "Did you look through the peephole first?"

"What! No! Why? I was expecting you…"

"A woman alone needs to be careful, you need to be aware of your surroundings."

_Eeeewww._ I was a little creeped out but omigod he was gorgeous! Classically well-tailored khaki shorts with an aqua linen shirt worn untucked and partially buttoned over a plain white t-shirt. Casual leather loafers, like Topsiders, nicely broken-in; no socks. And he had changed his hair. It was no longer in the strange braids and beads, it was expensively cut and silky blond, long on top with short sides.

I said, "Let's start over," using my best teacher voice. Then in my regular voice, "Hey, Anthony. It's great to see you again. And then you say, _Hi, Alyssa, you look lovely this evening._ And then I ask you if you want to come on for a drink before we go." I raised an eyebrow and waited.

Anthony blinked then smiled wide. My heart started pounding, I think I was having sugar shock from the male eye candy glut. Obediently he said, "Hi, Nikki. You do look beautiful. And I'm very happy to see you again too."

"Much better." We laughed. "So - drink? I have wine."

"No, I'm double-parked. If you're all set, shall we go?"

…. …. …

His car was a low yellow sports car. It had vanity plates that said ONESHOT and I definitely hoped that did not refer to his sexual prowess. On so many levels, ya know?

"Should I put the top up?" he asked politely.

"Oh no. It's such a nice night. Are we going far?"

He gave me a glance from behind the mirrored sunglasses that he put on against the glare of the setting sun. "Not far. And we will definitely stay on _terra firma_. A friend of mine has a home in Punta Ocho and a private beach. I thought we could have a picnic dinner, watch the moon rise over the ocean. Get to know each other. Okay?"

"It sounds lovely."

Anthony was silent for a few minutes as he maneuvered through the heavy weekend traffic of Miami. I sat and admired his car, running my hand along the edge of the soft ivory leather seat. I squinted at the burled walnut and stainless steel dashboard, checking out the logo on the glove box. I leaned forward and he put out an arm to protect me, but I leaned in and looked closer. I said, "This car is a Ferrari."

He put his hand back on the gearshift and downshifted as the gridlock worsened. He said, "I know."

"I got the impression you don't live here in Miami. But you keep a Ferrari here?"

"Yeah, I don't love Porsches."

"What?"

"Nevermind, tell me about yourself, Alyssa. Where are you from, why'd you decide to be a teacher. C'mon, tell all." He smiled at me but quickly refocused on the road.

"You first! What does a surfer dude do to afford an extra Ferrari or two?"

"Nothing interesting. Tell me…."

…. ….. ….. …..

**We made **_**get to know you**_** conversation** for the thirty or so minutes it took us to get to the high price area outside Miami. Just stuff, like where we were from: NYC/ Pittsburg. College: Penn State/ Stanford, Cal Tech, MIT, Harvard. (_Geez….) _And so on. A little while later we drove up a private road to a gated stucco and wrought iron privacy wall, somewhat softened by masses of fuchsia and scarlet bougainvillea. Keypad and cameras at the gate. I surreptitiously checked my cell phone to be sure I had service here. We drove through groves of orange trees and coconut palms and landscaped grounds, past an enormous red tile roofed, white Mediterranean mansion that was tastefully illuminated with security spotlighting and decorated with masses of brilliant flowers in big tubs and giant bowls. No lights on in the house itself though. No cars out front.

"Is your friend home?"

"No."

The car rolled gently over the crushed coral drive and ended up at the ocean, at the gorgeous empty private unimaginably expensive white Florida beach.

The house may have been uninhabited but someone had been here before us. On the immaculately raked expanse of sugar fine sand were two white cushioned teak lounges piled with citrus-colored silk pillows. Low, slatted teak table with lit votive candles and a crystal bowl of floating orchids. Cobalt blue placemats held down by white seashells and silverware rolled in turquoise linen napkins. Copper fire pit burning merrily, set carefully downwind but close enough to warm us if the night turned chilly.

Right now though the evening was tropically still - hot, humid, and perfect. Like a photo shoot.

I looked around, enchanted and amazed. Maybe the best thing was that someone had strung dozens of colorful silk Chinese lanterns in the palms. They lit up the darkening trees exquisitely.

Anthony, who acted as if this was all perfectly normal, plopped down the big LLBean tote and cooler that he'd extracted from the small storage space in the back of his car.

I looked around at the romantic setting, rosy sunset, gentle waves, candles. Champagne. I dabbed my toes into the cool white sand and said, "I hope there aren't sand fleas. I hate it when the sand fleas come out at dusk."

Anthony stared at me. Finally he said, "Sand fleas?"

I nodded. "They're these little biting bugs that come out of the sand at sunset and...No?"

"No. We don't have sand fleas." He was either clueless or a little scary, I wasn't totally sure.

I said, "Oh."

"They are not allowed."

_Geez._...

I said, "Pour me a drink, please, okay?"

He smiled at me and said agreeably, "Champagne or peach martini? Or I have Pellegrino, I wasn't sure if you drank alcohol."

If I didn't drink before I needed something now. And I adored peach martinis. I said so and added, "How did you guess?"

"Reminded me of your peachy skin - and sweet personality, Nikki."

I did a double take and he grinned. I laughed too. "I have been a bit difficult, haven't I?"

"If you were easy, it wouldn't be worth the effort, babe." He handed me my martini, poured the sparkling water for himself. He said, "Salud," and we clinked crystal flutes.

"You aren't having a martini?" I asked.

"I don't drink a lot when I drive, babe, I'll have champagne with dinner. You enjoy your drink. Relax."

I did just that as the sweet alcohol slid through my veins. We chatted while he unpacked the meal, true picnic food…with a gourmet flair. Tarragon-lemon chicken with a spicy cilantro/ avocado/ and sweet peppers salsa on the side; wild rice salad with minced dried apricots and pomegranate seeds, a green salad of tiny baby lettuce. The champagne, _Veuve Cliquot_ rose', I was guessing a hundred bucks a bottle. Sweet soft cheeses and fruit—strawberries and melon and papaya and mango drizzled with a sweet liqueur. And a box of tiny perfect almond lace cookies so crisp and delicate it was amazing they had survived the trip to the beach.

I waved a hand at the food and the space around us. "This is all so beautiful, Anthony. Thank you for doing this for me."

"For us, Nikki," he said quietly.

"You do this often?" His dark rather unfathomable eyes studied me for a moment, then he shrugged and laughed a little. "No! And, oh okay, I'm a loser, I admit it. I asked my friend's housekeeper - her name is Ella - and my mom for advice." He added, "My mother is an artist and she, you know, like has good ideas. She's cool…."

_Was he a little nervous?_ I thought it was really sweet.

I reached over and touched his shoulder, then impulsively kissed his cheek. "Like I said, it's amazing. Beautiful." And romantic.

He grinned at me and poured us more champagne.

After we ate, I leaned back with a sigh, but Anthony caught my hand and said, "Come sit here with me; we'll watch the moon come up over the ocean." I let him pull me over to his chaise, sat with my back pressed against his very hard chest. He glanced over my shoulder at his watch. "It should appear…just about…now!" And as if he was a magician or a sorcerer, the huge golden moon appeared above the waves. I felt his breath in my hair and shivered. He rubbed my bare arms with those warm callused hands, whispered, "Are you cold, Alyssa?"

I shivered again. I was so _not cold._

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Math Teacher ~ Chapter Six**

**.**

**.**

**Alyssa/Nikki**

"**Are you cold, **Nikki?"

"I—no. Yes, well…" He wrapped his warm arms around me completely, holding me against himself, but carefully as if I were as delicate as the orchids over there on the table. He bent his head to my shoulder and kissed me at the sweet spot where my neck and shoulder met. I turned my head to look back at him. He said, "Nikki? Okay?" and he kissed me.

... ... ...

**Later, much later, Anthony tucked a cashmere throw** around me and pulled on a pair of flowered board shorts that he dug out of the magical tote bag. He got up and restoked the fire, sending warm flames towards the starry sky.

He said, "Another drink, Nikki?"

"Maybe not," I said, "I…."

He reached out and pulled me to my feet. He wrapped something gauzy around me, a pareo or something, a sarong. I couldn't see the color in the dim light, but it was soft cotton and delicately perfumed. He said, "Maybe I should get you home, babe."

I said, "Oh, let's not. It's such a beautiful night. Let's walk on the beach and cool off in the ocean. The water is probably warmer than the air." I looked around."Where is my swimsuit?

"You won't need it," he whispered.

... ... ..

**Anthony**

**She was as sweet and as perfect** as I could ever have imagined. We walked to the edge of the surf and I carefully unwrapped the sarong. She was like a beautiful present, waiting to be opened in the moonlight.

_Get a grip, dude,_ I told myself.

She kissed me and said, "You have a swimsuit, why not me?"

_Because I need someplace to put my knife and my trusty waterproof Glock, babe._

I don't answer, just pick her up and she squeals, maybe she's not used to being carried. I wade out into the light surf and instead of dropping her into the water, I relax backwards into its bathtub warmth with Alyssa in my arms. We sink under the waves, locked together, come up laughing and sputtering. Then I draw her into my arms and kiss her wet salty face.

Nikki wraps her bare legs around my waist. She is hot against me….

She whispers, "Again, please. Again..."

**Afterward we kiss like friends and laugh**, I dive down in the moonlit water for my surf shorts that were efficiently anchored by my foot and the weight of my weapons. Thankfully Alyssa had not noticed the gun or knife when she deftly untied the shorts' waist cord and pushed them down off my ass in the water.

"We better go, Nikki. It's getting late." We splash into the shallows, arms around each other. We are kissing and joking and laughing.

Then, "Hi, Ms Nichols!"

Shit! We both duck down into the dark ocean, Nikki goes in all the way to her neck and I pull my gun. The water draining from the barrel looks absurd to me but I hope no one else is noticing. The dark figures on the beach turn out to be four teenagers, slightly drunk or stoned, two in bikinis—one blond, one brunette; two in flowered board shorts like my own—one lanky and tall, one pimply and short. Both pudgy, they could do with a few weeks of Ranger bootcamp to harden up.

I put the Glock back in my waistband and tie the shorts snugly.

"Stay here," I order Nikki, then I find her sarong in the sand. I use my body to hide her from the kids and wrap it around her. The wet fabric is almost as revealing as if she wore nothing but she looks relieved and thanks me. We step up to the kids who are grinning and giggling.

"Hi, guys," says Nikki in her teacher voice."Having fun?"

"Oh yeah." They all laugh again. One of the boys brandishes a white bottle of Malibu rum. The girls say, "Yum!" and giggle some more. I think_, barf city._

I say, "This is a private beach, what are you doing here?"

The taller of the boys says, "We're visiting my grandma." He names one of Ranger's way down the beach neighbors.

"And we saw the fire and stuff and it looks so amazing," adds the blonde girl. She blatantly eyes me up and down and licks her lips. I glance at the brunette and she runs a languid hand along the edge of her bikini bra, thrusts out her little teenage tits.

_Eeeuuuuw._ Jail bait. And so skinny.

I say, "The owner of this beach expects you to respect his privacy. I'll have to ask you to head home now, please." I strive to keep my voice quiet and polite.

They all nod amiably and said, "Okay! Like, see you Monday, Ms Nichols!"

She watches them depart and says, "See you Monday…." She turns to me and says, "Will I ever live this down?"

I kiss her forehead. "Sure, they thought it was awesome. And it's too dark to see anything anyway," I lie. In a louder—but not loud!—voice I say sternly, "What the fuck happened?"

Two typically black-clad Rangeman guys materialize out of the shadows. Nikki squeaks and hides behind me. I note with approval that here in Miami Ranger dresses his personal guards in nice black short-sleeved golf shirts, with _Rangeman_ in black on the chest instead of a little horse guy. The one with the rifle holds it to the side to keep it out of Nikki's sight.

I repeat, "What the hell happened?"

"They were just kids, sir."

"So?"

"We don't shoot kids, boss."

I stare and they cringe. They back away saying, "Maybe next time, sir."

And they run off.

Behind me Alyssa says, "Will there be a next time?"

I turn and take her in my arms, holding her lightly. I say, "Do you want there to be?"

"Yes."

I say, "Then there _will _be a next time, Nikki."

_Someday. _

_Maybe…_

... ... ...

**Nikki**

Anthony efficiently cleared up the remains of our picnic and dowsed the fire while I dried my hair and put my dress back on.

We drove home in thoughtful but companionable silence. After a while an amusing thought struck me and I asked, "Did you really ask your mother for date advice?" I giggled.

Anthony shot me a look then shrugged a little. "Well yeah, her and Ella. My mom is really creative and Ella is good at making things be—well, whatever they need to be, homey, elegant, classy, romantic, whatever. God knows Ranger wouldn't have a clue." He laughed.

"Ranger?"

""My friend with the beach house where we were…."

"Oh."

"And then, you know, you didn't want to go to Paris, so I was…stumped. All I could think of was middle school and miniature golf or something. A boardwalk and cotton candy and beer. _Shooting games_ and teddy bears."

"That all sounds fun…." I yawned.

"But not exciting."

"I like fun, Anthony. I had a really nice time tonight."

He reached out and took my hand. "Me too, Alyssa."

"I had just one other question…."

_Who are you? Where do you live? What do you do for a living really? Who were those armed men in black? Why were they there? Why did you have a gun and a knife in your swim shorts? Did you really think I wouldn't notice them? Was that you on that CNN tape with Julie's daddy? I looked it up after Julie told me who her father is—it's on You Tube, did you know you're on YouTube? What about tonight? Did you like it? Us? You know…was it good, was I? Will I ever see you again? What if I'm falling in love with you…huh? What if?_

**Anthony**

_A psychic barrage. Suddenly she has more questions than Steph at her nosiest!_

But I say, "Shoot, babe." _So to speak…_ "Tell me."

"Your website. I couldn't get in. It was weird. It said _eyes only_ and some letters, I forget…?"

_Oh shit again._ "Just a joke. The NTK means Need to Know. And Eyes Only-it's like a _Spy vs Spy_ joke. Click on the _eyes only_ banner, there a hidden button, lets you into the site." My voice trails off….

_What the fuck am I saying?_

"But only if you—whoever—need to know, " I add fast.

She smiles and the wind ruffles her pretty hair. She pushes the curls out of her face and says, "Do I need to know?"

I say, "Naw, it's just a gag, a joke."

"Mmmm. Okay." Her voice is sleepy and agreeable.

I think, _Just a joke….if you're not lookin' to hire a hitman or a black ops agent or a small but deadly mercenary army, that is._

I hold Nikki's hand and whisper to her sleeping profile, "Someday—maybe_." _

…_. …. …._

tbc

* * *

a/n the change in tenses when Anthony narrates this chapter is deliberate; pls don't complain. :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**The Math Teacher ~ Chapter Seven**

**.**

**.**

**Stephanie**

**DC in June. Can you say hot and muggy?** The parents and teachers were friendly to me but gave Ranger a wide berth, despite their pleasure in his freebie donation of four nights at the Four Seasons for everyone. Boy, did the volunteers turn out when the parents heard that!

The kids however seemed fascinated by Ranger. He always said that dogs and kids love him and I could see that this was true. He had patiently traipsed around the museums and the monuments for the past three days, only disappearing when the tour took us to The Pentagon and Arlington Cemetery. The Pentagon, I could understand - the cemetery I wasn't so sure. Maybe it held sad memories for him. Or he saw his future in the flag bedecked fields of the dead.

The young woman named Alyssa Nichols, the teacher who had briefly dated my sort of future brother-in-law—and very dear friend—Anthony Stewart, was not on this trip. Seems she is a high school math teacher, go figure. Julie likes Ms Nichols a lot but I just can't see Antonio with a, well, _teacher_. But maybe that's just me. Or me and him, I don't know...

.

**Today was the White House visit.** We stood in line, we got our visitor passes. Ranger got pulled aside briefly and he flashed an ID, before discreetly handing over his weapons to the Secret Service people. They treated him with immense respect—or was that healthy fear I was seeing?—and made no fuss or embarrassing commotion. Three hours later, we finished the tour. My feet hurt and I felt cheated. We saw all the neat tidy public areas, but where's the dirt? The dust bunnies? The leftover pizza boxes? Where's the friggin' President?

Ranger smiled down at me. I think I said that last bit out loud.

Ranger said, "I don't think the President appears for these tours, babe, he's a busy guy."

"Hunh."

We were interrupted by a White House page person who said, "Excuse me. You are Colonel Manoso and Ms Plum? And is this Miss Julie Martine?" He smiled at Julie who smiled wide at him in return. The kid gaped at her. Well, she _is_ very pretty. Just like her daddy.

I said, "It wasn't my fault!"

"Excuse me?"

"Whatever happened, it wasn't my fault!"

"Uh huh." The kid looked confused.

Ranger said, "I'm Carlos Manoso. Is there a problem?"

"No, sir. But could you please come this way?"

The signs said Oval Office.

_Omigod._

The page knocked and went in, gesturing for us to follow.

He said, "Sir. Colonel Manoso. Ms Plum. Ms Julie Martine."

Then he made a little hand gesture and said, "The President of the United States."

…..

**Julie**

**I clutched Steph's hand** and followed the young guy down a long corridor. All the signs said_ West Wing_. Then: _Oval Office_. I could feel daddy calmly following behind us, right at home in the President's house.

The kid opened the big wooden door and said our names, then announced: "The President of the United States!"

_Like we wouldn't freakin' know?_

The President came around his big desk and shook our hands, speaking warmly to me and Steph. Then he shook my dad's hand and said, "Carlos."

"Sir."

The page seated Steph and me, and the President went around and sat in his big presidential chair. When the President sat, daddy sat. Protocol.

The President looked at Steph and said, "Colonel Manoso says you've made him a very happy man." He glanced at Ranger and added, "I expect to be invited to the wedding, Carlos!"

"Oh. Um," said Steph.

Daddy said, "Steph has not had time to adjust to being my fiancée, sir. We haven't even begun to discuss a wedding."

The President was too polite to mention that their baby had already been born and was back at the hotel with her grandma Ellen and Britta, the current au pair.

"I can't wait to dance with your bride, Carlos. Will this be making changes in your work status? We'll be sorry to lose you if it does."

"No sir. It won't."

"Good to know."

Now while all this chitchat was, like happening, I was totally noticing that my dad seemed to know the President really well. The President calls my daddy _Carlos_. Hardly anyone calls daddy _Carlos,_ it sounded strange to me. Sometimes my uncle Anthony calls my daddy _Carlito_. And sometimes _Ric_...but never _Carlos._ Clearly daddy has yet another life most of us know nothing about.

"And this is Julie!" I jumped when the President's attention suddenly switched to me.

I said, "Yes sir."

"My daughter told me all about meeting you on Facebook. Imagine my surprise to find out you are the daughter of my good friend Carlos Manoso."

I said, "Imagine that," and daddy frowned at me a little. Well what was I supposed to say? No clue. Stephanie was no help, she was looking shell-shocked. I think she was still fixated on the idea that this man was inviting himself to her wedding.

_What wedding?_

We had tea and chatted. We were invited back for dinner sometime in the future. The President smiled at me and said, "My wife will order in pizzas, we'll be casual, eat upstairs."

Ranger said, "That stuff will kill you, sir."

The President clapped Ranger on the shoulder and laughed. He said, "Gotta bust out and enjoy life once in awhile, Ranger."

_Omigosh, now he is calling him Ranger!_

"Yessir."

We finally made our escape.

When we got outside the Oval Office, both Stephanie and I turned openmouthed to my daddy who said calmly, "Not here." And he led us back to our tour group, got his weapons from the Secret Service guys and managed not to answer any questions for the rest of the trip.

... … …

**tbc**/ epilogs probably on Friday!

* * *

Thank you all for reading and especially for your reviews, I appreciate your taking the time. I am so happy you've enjoyed this little slice of my Plum world.

sunny d.


	8. Chapter 8The Epilogues

**The Math Teacher ~ epilogues**

**.**

**.**

**Julie**

**A week after I got home** to Miami , a big creamy white envelope appeared in our mailbox. The return address said The White House and it was addressed to Ms Julie Manoso-Martine.

Inside was an invitation to the president's daughter's 13th birthday party. It would be held next month, on the 4th of July, at Camp David.

_I hope they have fireworks._

**... ... ...**

**Alyssa/Nikki**

**He kissed me, said he'd had **fun. He said he'd call me.

_Someday..._

Two months later I opened my front door and there was the man I had not seen since that night. The following day I had received a bouquet of dozens of coral rose buds and chartreuse orchids - with a card that said only _Love, Anthony_, in the backhand scrawl I associate with left-handed people. Then - nothing.

Now, on this warm June night, he stood on my porch, again with the beaded hair and grungy cargo shorts and an ancient too-small grey t-shirt that said Kiss _Me I'm Italian / San Gennaro Festival/ NYC '83_ in faded red and green print. He was smiling that cocky _I'm so hot_ smile but he looked dirty, exhausted. And his dark eyes looked haunted.

I could not find words and just stared at him.

Finally he said, " You know that old Bob Dylan song: _'Come in, she said, I'll give you shelter from the storm'_…?"

I looked up at the starry night sky and said, "I don't see a storm."

He said, "Please?"

And I opened my door wide and said, "Come in."

**the end**


End file.
